


It's not my turn yet.

by QuanticMorgan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuanticMorgan/pseuds/QuanticMorgan
Summary: I've been sentenced to confinement in a remote part of the cosmos for excessive procrastination and missed deadlines.
Kudos: 2





	It's not my turn yet.

“...”

I haven’t said a word in weeks, or whatever counted as weeks in outer space. There was no sun or moon in sight. No neighbor planet, no spaceship, not even a black hole. It was just me and the stars.

Come to think this is the fate I end up getting after drawing myself back on my projects for days to no end. A bunch of transparent hands no-clip me through a wall and I’m processed for my “fantasy writing sins” with my sentence being getting teleported here, in some desolate part of the cosmos, for a length I couldn’t understand.

The only thing I can remember from that time is… tears. I’m just crying all the way through the process of being convicted and judged, in a strange dimensional courtroom even. It was the closest I would probably ever get to getting a trial for criminal charges. I was offered a last wish, but I wasn’t able to make much out of it due to my incessant crying which almost rendered my speech incomprehensible. In the end, they had to get someone who could read minds and before blasting me off, I was given a Morgan costume.

There’s something symbolic about having your fate set as a character you’ve obsessed over for months. I can’t grasp that meaning, though. I haven’t been able to think about any kind of idea. I mean, why would I? Everything was lost. I didn’t have a computer near me, or a phone, or any kind of vital life. I used to make a lot of symbolism people couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand it sometimes. The esotericism I was known for used things that my brain just came up with on the spot based on many things at once. I know I wasn’t required to be so complex, but it came out naturally…

I just wanted to be good. That’s all I wanted to do. Be considered “good”. Have people look at my projects and have a feeling of pride, of content, of delight… But I couldn’t do that, not on my own. I drew myself back idea after idea, commitment through commitment, forcing me to believe I’m incapable of standing on my own and have “good ideas”. I left so many things in my head because I couldn’t bring myself to write them down, flesh them out, and hope for the best.

After being told so many times to not do it for anyone else, it started to feel like a belittling statement. Instead of meaning “the only person that needs to be happy for what you do is you!” it became “look at you, pleasing the others. You deranged fool!”. I don’t think I could describe this more explicitly than that. I basically surrendered to my critical mind, telling me I was at the rule of the others, who were older than me, higher than me, smarter than me, better than me in every single aspect, and I thought I could be happy trying and learning to be “good”.

What even is “good” at this point? I already know there’s nothing in this universe the entire humanity agrees on. No one agrees totally on what compositions are “masterpieces”. No one agrees perfectly on what books are considered the best of the best while everything else is just a letdown, and that could give you a sense of pride for being who you are, with your own tastes, likings, dislikes, guidelines, and idols.  
For so long I thought I had disappointed my friends and my idols, idols that ranged from music-making to roleplaying, writing, voice acting, drawing, game-making, etc., even though I fully knew I would probably never even meet some of these people, or get to talk to them through any place.

“...”

I lifted my head and looked back at the cascade of glowing stars, sparkling copiously, thinking they’re staring at me. Is it with contempt? Disapproval? Sorrow? Do they even look at me? Am I just a single, microscopic piece of the universe we all live in, in a star living next to hundreds of trillions of stars? I guess now that I had been in a fetal position with my eyes closed for the longest 4 weeks of my life, I was.

I still haven’t lost my humanity. They did something to me that would let me stay in space without freezing to death or collapsing from lack of oxygen. Oh… think of the stuff I would’ve done if only I wasn’t such an asshole to myself.

Faráe would probably have more stuff that compliments her money rack… Alicia would have reasons to be such a bad girl… BraveSentry would… be BraveSentry. A quest to the Backrooms! What about music? I didn’t get to release Arcana in the end… Arcana. Sheikah. Reimagined. QuanticMorgan X You…

Now I realized why I’m here. I haven’t been processed in some sort of dimensional court trial condemned to live with the stars as one. I’m also not actually in the middle of space.

I’m having a lucid dream.

Finally, I got out of my fetal position, releasing my grip from my legs and stretching my muscles out. I can feel a voice breathing through my ears.

“I’m not done. It’s just not my turn yet.”

The moment I said that I could hear a switch flip, in a similar way you hear a switch flip in the middle of an empty silo. Then another one. And another one. And the stars began to disappear as light bulbs turning off. Then, just a few seconds later, I was all alone, by myself, with no company.

I wasn’t in space anymore. I was in a chamber. The anti-gravity system shut down and I could stand on a floor I couldn’t see.

**“CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE FIGURED IT OUT. NOW GO. IT’S YOUR TURN.”**

A line appeared 10 meters in front of me, like cutting through the wall. It formed a rectangular shape. It formed a door.

It was time for me to go.


End file.
